And Make it Thus Expire
by my-heart-is-just-as-silent
Summary: Part 1 of trilogy. Elena deals with indecision; Damon tries to heal her pain with his flames; Stefan, Jeremy, and an unexpected memory personified all collide. Takes place after season finale. Read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is, hopefully, part one of a trilogy. Story is already complete, so expect prompt updates (uncharacteristic, I know). The title, "And Make it Thus Expire," was inspired by the 16th century Italian love song, "Charm Me Asleep." A stanza of lyrics from the song will be incorporated in every chapter. "AMiTE" begins where the season finale ended, because I simply could not bear the thought of waiting until January for more Vamp. Diaries; I'm taking matters into my own hands, and writing it myself. Elena/Damon, but in an uncertain way, and from Elena's POV. I pieced together different elements from the book series and show, such as the time-period that Stefan and Damon were turned. I much prefer the Renaissance interpretation. **

**First chapter is slow, exposition, but things definitely quicken with future chapters. I hope you like it!**

* * *

**AND MAKE IT THUS EXPIRE**

ELENA GILBERT

"_Charm me asleep, and melt me so  
With thy delicious numbers  
That, being ravish'd, hence I go  
Away in easy slumbers."_

Chapter 1

_Dear Diary,_

_Things have been strange lately. It began with my discovery of John Gilbert lying bloodied on my kitchen floor. His explanation was sparse, and sketchy. But who am I to question his word? After all, he chose to understand me when I needed him most; in doing so, he contributed to the rescue of Damon, a vampire. _

_Damon. He's been acting very bizarrely, watching my face with a kind of rapture, searching. I've asked him what he was looking for at least twice now. What does he expect to find written on my face? His careful gauge of my emotions and expressions has me nervous and frayed. I feel as if I'm supposed to live up to an expectation that I wasn't even aware existed. Till now. And…he doesn't touch me anymore, never even comes close. I don't think I'm ready to ask myself why that bothers me so much._

_Jeremy hasn't come home since the night of the Founder's Day Celebration. At first I was concerned. But Bonnie has reassured me that he is close, so I try not to worry too much. My anxiety mostly stems from the bad note we left on. "You can go to hell Elena," he had said. And I felt the force of those words exactly the same as, "We're sorry to tell you, but your parents are dead." Why won't he forgive me? Damon told me that Anna had died, and that he'd revealed this to Jer. So maybe it's not about me at all; maybe Jer needed to get away from the memory of Anna for a while. I'll give him that space._

_I've been spending a lot of time with Stefan, even more so than usual. He seems to be waiting for _something_ but I'm not sure what. He refuses to share his suspicions or doubts until he's confirmed them. He doesn't want to worry me unnecessarily. Sometimes I'm grateful for that, his considerate nature. But others my mood is not so generous, and I lash out at him for "keeping me in the dark." I'm a big girl. I can handle myself, and whatever comes our way. I wish he would trust me more. It seems odd and even shameful to say but I wish he would hurt me._

* * *

When the bell rang signaling the end of last period, I rushed out into the flooding hallway, excited to tell Stefan the news.

"Stefan!" I cried. "Did you hear? It's supposed to snow!"

He smiled weakly at me and placed a hand on my hair. "Snow in Mystic Falls? This early in the season? It seems a bit strange."

I nodded impatiently, waiting for him to grasp the significance. When he didn't continue speaking, I sighed and said, "This will be our first winter together."

"Oh, I suppose that's true." He bended down and kissed my forehead, lingering over my skin. I closed my eyes, content. The smile I loved was plain on his face. I didn't feel at ease when he wasn't smiling. It was just something I'd come to expect from him. A frown meant total catastrophe, but a grin was salvation.

"Come on," he urged me. "I told Matt we'd meet him and Caroline at The Grill."

When we arrived I wasn't surprised to see Damon drinking himself to death at the bar. The practiced reflex of 'shot, drink, slam, shot' was unnerving to watch. I wondered how many years it had taken him to perfect those motions. Then I took into account how long he'd been alive, and considered how large of a portion of those years shot glasses had even existed. I could sense my lips turning up in an idle grin.

But we had drawn closer to Damon. And apparently my smile did not sit well with him.

"Am I funny?" he voiced. "Even if I'm the joke it's only polite to fill me in. I can laugh too." He smirked and brought the attractive bartender to his mouth, whispered something in her ear. She drew away flushed and laughing, raising an eyebrow at Stefan and me. Stefan remained still and stoic, but my blush was instantaneous. Anger soon followed.

"There's no need when you're making a fool of yourself," I retorted. "It's pretty obvious to everyone how pathetic you are."

Instantly, I regretted even opening my mouth to speak. Then his lovely, devastating features twisted into a cool grimace and I regretted being _born_.

"I was just telling her about your desperation to lose, well, your _cherry_, for lack of a better word. And Stefan's resolve to keep it intact." His mouth popped on the last letter, and that drew my focus to his lips.

I knew it was entirely wrong to shiver with desire at his words, considering their nature and even the person who'd uttered them. It was doubly wrong to imagine Damon's lips, full and sculpted, against my own while standing next to Stefan.

I shook myself as Stefan started forward. "No," I told him. "It's fine. I shouldn't have said what I said to him." I turned to Damon and repeated the same sentiment. "Sorry. Enjoy your booze." There was a subtle barb in my last line, but I couldn't refrain. I wasn't just angry with Damon, I was angry with myself. I had allowed his words to do exactly what he'd intended. And for that I felt ashamed.

* * *

Matt and Caroline were late. They entered looking suspect; Caroline's hair was practically glued into place, hiding distinct tiny bruises on her flesh. Matt's mouth was red, and I sighed. Their appearance was doing nothing to help my mood. Stefan, of course, noticed nothing of my discomfort. Caro was more observant.

"What's wrong E?" she asked. I didn't reply, instead fixedly watching Matt and Stefan talk about sports and racing. How strange.

Later, I pulled Caroline into the bathroom and briefly told her the problem.

"I keep having this…_attraction_ toward Damon. I don't know what to do about it. He's been acting so weird lately, and it's only making it worse for me; for some reason, I keep expecting him to touch or flirt like he normally does, and I get disappointed when he doesn't. I'm so confused." I hung my head in shame, running a hand through my hair with frustration.

"The solution is easy," she told me, flicking her own blonde tresses back over her shoulder. "When you're attracted to someone, especially if you don't want to be, you've just gotta give in."

I flinched. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She smiled. "Kiss him. Shock the hell out of him." She pressed on as I opened my mouth to protest. "Look, I know you love Stefan. But lust isn't something that's easy to fix, or even something you should feel bad about. Damon is just a hot guy, and you're a girl with raging hormones and a surprisingly prude boyfriend."

"He is not!" I replied furiously. "Stefan is perfect in every way."

Caroline pursed her lips and applied more lipgloss. "Do you hear yourself? Who are you trying to convince? Stefan is a great guy, don't get me wrong, but you need more than he's willing to give; don't think I haven't noticed. You practically throw yourself at him and he never gives you the chance to have your wicked way. Personally I think Damon is doing you a favor. Or would be- if you let him."

Her words hung in the air, reverberating, and I gulped, unable to speak. I should be fearless. Elena Gilbert is not one for shyness or hesitation.

'But she is one for faithfulness,' I reminded myself.

"It would be cheating," I finally said, sighing. I hoped rather uselessly that I wasn't sighing because I had found a problem with Caro's suggestion, and that I was just exasperated with her tactlessness.

"No, not really. I mean, I suppose it would be in the technical sense. But emotionally it's perfectly fine. If it's Stefan you go home to, and love, that's all that matters."

I knew it wouldn't be easy. I wasn't even sure if I could do it at all. But…

"I'll think about it," I surrendered. Her face lit up, and she spun me around joyfully.

"Oh, Elena this is so much fun! Thank you for sharing with me," she added seriously. "It means a lot."

I returned her smile, but felt the strain of faking happiness.

As Caro and I exited the restroom, Damon was standing casually outside the door. My so-called friend made a hasty departure, probably assuming she was doing me a favor. I coughed out a quick signal, but she either didn't recognize my S.O.S or didn't care.

Regardless, I was pinned into a dark corner with the subject matter of my latest, more explicit fantasies. I was a nervous wreck.

"What's up?" I tried.

He did not smirk, or slick a finger down his eyebrow tauntingly, casual actions typical for Damon. Instead, his handsome face was cryptic and even cold. I found myself unable to speak.

"Who are you?" he demanded suddenly, and I was more bemused than ever.

"Damon, what are you-"

He interrupted me with a certain familiar ferocity. "No, Elena, you can't play with me anymore. I heard enough of your little conversation. Don't you think you should be more honest with Caroline? With yourself?"

Taken aback, I sensed a frown sneak onto my face, and my heart began racing. "You…overheard me?"

"Of course that's the only part you'd address," he muttered. "Yes, I did. And I want to know _why_ you kissed me, Elena, if you were only going to leave me dry and wanting for the next few days."

I couldn't breathe. "What. Are. You. Talking about?"

Damon scrutinized my expression. "It's okay, no one's listening. _Stefan_ isn't listening."

"I don't care who's listening, Damon, my answer will still be the same. I've never kissed you. I may have wanted to, but…"

He stood there, absorbing the information I'd just given him, and I watched in grim, dawning horror as his aquiline features contorted into a distinct 'aha,' as if all his suspicions had been irreverently confirmed.

'Oh God,' I thought. 'This was exactly what he was trying to trick me into saying.'

"Damn you," I said angrily. "Are you happy now? You know I want you. But it's exactly because of your…your deceit and shadiness that I won't even try. You're nothing but trouble, and I'm sorry you're so beautiful. It's a waste.

That hitch in his black brow, shaped by disbelief and surprise bothered me, and I pondered idly how he could have missed my longing for him; in hindsight, I felt it painfully evident.

I spun on my heel and left him standing with his mouth rather comically agape.

* * *

Stefan didn't ask why I wanted to leave. He was unfailingly obliging, and as I kissed him goodnight it struck me as odd that his lips held little spectral wonder for me, and that I didn't stir with committed excitement.

Whatever the reason, it was clearly, agonizingly an ominous indication.

His precious jade eyes followed me protectively up the path toward my front door, and I lingered over the threshold for just a moment, glancing back at him with a frown etched in my forehead.

For a single second, a split rift in temporary time, my mind mischievously transformed his green eyes to grey, slate-like, opaque nothing; then they were brilliant blue, and I was spinning into the sanctuary of my home, knowing those eyes all too well, yet not wanting to.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I've gotten alot of Story Alerts, but no reviews! Please, it only takes a few seconds to hit that little blue button and let me know what you think. 'Feed'back- pun intended- is so helpful.**

**Chapter _deux _brings back Jeremy. (If there was no Damon- shudder to think- I would most definitely be Team Jeremy.)**

* * *

"_Ease my sick head,  
And make my bed,  
Thou power that canst sever  
From me this ill,  
And quickly still,  
Though thou not kill  
My fever."_

Chapter 2

_Dear Diary,_

_Jeremy still hasn't returned home. Jenna and I are getting more worried. He's called a few times, his voice rough with what I hope is just sadness. I know it's possible he's doing drugs. But I don't like to think that. I don't like to think about how he refuses to talk to me. _

_The weather is growing colder, and I'm anticipating the Christmas season. It's a little distant still, but I pray that it will be everything I dream._

_Stefan bought me a cute scarf today. It's maroon with soft fabric. I absolutely love it. I asked him if the gift was his way of preempting feeding. He seemed shocked, and even a little disgusted, so I didn't press the subject. But I was very disappointed. _

_He wonders why Damon hasn't made an appearance since The Grill. He asked me if anything transpired between us. I felt so guilty as I lied. But it was for Stefan's own good. I do everything with his best interest at heart. _

_But Damon has starred in every one of my dreams. Some are dark and twisted, but others are just casual encounters like ones we've had before. I'm not sure why my subconscious dredges these imaginings up, but it's not as if I have any control over that. I'm just glad Stefan hasn't asked me to sleep over, because I'm fairly sure that I say Damon's name in my sleep._

* * *

I decided informally to skip school Monday morning, just as I had finished showering, fatigue stretching the boundaries of my vision. It seemed stupid then, to return to the solace of relaxation and _quiet _when it had taken so much effort to struggle free of the blankets in the first place. But I couldn't force myself to carry the multiplying burdens, self-fabricated or not. I couldn't even get dressed.

What was wrong with me? This wasn't normal…unwarranted, even. But I supposed there was nothing I could really do about it- any of it.

The looming sign of forever and never was all I could see; my damp hair threw droplets onto the scarlet sheets, and I convinced myself that it was blood, my blood, dampening the bed as a sign of my eternal frustration. Morbidity was easy, natural, and I reveled in this sinister side of me until revulsion replaced intrigue. I abhorred this unstable, provocative twin of myself, and feverishly considered Katherine as if she stood plainly before me, knowing it must only be the gilded mirror.

I collapsed on my bed, clutching my diary to me, and built a cocoon of wasted oxygen from the shreds of my dwindling sanity and the sheets.

Stefan, of course, came. He lay beside me until I awoke. I was instantly terrified that he had read my journal; the pages were spread out against my chest for the entire world to see. On that same token, my chest itself was very nearly on display, the soggy towel wiggling around while I dozed. But his face was calm, if curious, and definitely unaffected by the semi-nakedness of his perverse girlfriend.

"Are you okay?" he asked me.

I answered in the affirmative, and closed my eyes again. I hadn't meant to drift off once more, because a headache had arisen from my gratuitous slumber, but it seemed hopeless.

It was comforting knowing that he was there, beside me, keeping me safe from even myself.

I knew I'd have to wake up eventually, and face the irrationality of all my decisions- or lack thereof.

But when consciousness next reached its spider-like arms into the crooked crevice of my safe, yet betraying haven, it was not the younger, brighter Salvatore brother with his arms around me. It was Damon.

I slid away quickly, indignant. My pulse started up a raucous drumbeat, thundering out tiny streams of blood which, in turn, zigzagged inside forked veins.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, pulling the sheets up over me. I cringed at the unthinking movement; my towel slithered.

He laughed. "Calm down, princess, I'm here by request of your precious Stefan."

He thrust a note into my hands, offering proof, handwritten justification.

_Elena,_

_I've gone to hunt. I've put it off for days; it might take longer than usual. I asked Damon to keep you company. Don't be afraid to keep him in line. Hope you feel better. Always know that I love you._

_Stefan_

Damon illustrated a luscious gagging motion as I folded the paper over, making origami rectangles. According to stringent habit, my hand shot out in jest, smacking his bicep lightly.

He took me by surprise, clasping my hand in his own and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the tip of each appendage, deferentially, as if the key to his own happiness lay in worshipping me. He inserted my fore and middle fingers into his mouth and bit gently.

The desire was instantaneous, making me twitch with electricity. The sensation shocked me with its incomparable ferocity. I tensed, stifling a moan.

His tongue darted out and I watched, fascinated, as it flicked strategically between each tan digit. I threw my head back, unable to abide another nanosecond of his planned assault, and when I next surfaced his pupils were dilated.

Then, I was beneath him, and his face was in the crook of my neck and shoulder, nipping gently. I clutched at his shirt, his silken midnight hair.

When his teeth pressed into my throat, threatening to break skin with their razor-fine points, I finally came to my senses.

"Damon!" I shouted, the force of my cry was lessened by breathlessness. "Stop, please."

He did not draw blood from me, and simply remained in that unfrequented triangle of flesh. Slowly, his teeth retracted, and I sighed in what I assumed was relief. He nuzzled my skin and murmured, "You probably taste better than even my wildest dreams. I think I might die if I indulge; you're doing me a favor. My restraint is," he chuckled, lifting away from the strange area and propping himself up on an elbow, "not exactly admirable."

I didn't know what to say. I just looked back at him, pained and certainly red-faced with embarrassment.

"Did I hurt you?" he voiced, studiously perusing the highlights of red in my hair.

"No," I whispered.

I pushed him off of me all the same, and sought refuge behind the rather useless lock on my bathroom door.

I cursed myself for the uncharacteristic truancy, realizing there really _was_ a moral to this story.

* * *

That night, Stefan and Damon were invited to my home for dinner.

Jenna didn't object to my missing school. She said that I was entitled to a free day occasionally. But when she returned from the grocery store and noticed Damon sprawling languorously on the couch, flicking through our Pay-Per-View aimlessly, she couldn't help questioning me.

"Why is Stefan's brother here?"

I grudgingly told her that I had asked both Salvatore brothers over, and that Stefan had simply gone out to run an errand. She accepted this easily, and informed me that she was making a delicious Italian dinner and that they _must_ partake.

I grimaced but allowed this, knowing full well that Damon was grinning behind me like the cat that ate the canary.

'Come to think of it, that might just be cannibalism, considering his second form is a crow.'

Stefan returned shortly, unaware of my dark humor, and instantly picked up on my hastily concocted ruse. He offered Jenna some respectable nonsense about filling up his gas tank and football meetings and would she like him to run out and get bread for her pending dinner?

Distracted or gullible, Jenna declined.

"Five minutes, guys. Elena, why don't you set the table?" she said cheerfully.

Stefan followed me dutifully and whispered in my ear as I opened the cabinets.

"Did Damon behave? I was trying to trust him, just like you asked me to." His face was open and wistful and I felt like bottom-of-the-ocean scum.

"He was very good," I said honestly, more for Damon's benefit than my own. The resulting laugh was booming and enthusiastic, and Stefan's brows drew together.

I shrugged, blushing.

"Alright guys," Jenna crooned happily. "I'm finished! My Italian masterpiece is ready for you undeserving mortals." She smiled and did not seem to pick up on the tiny exchange of significant glances that passed between the Salvatores and myself.

Stefan politely pulled out my chair and sat at my left; Damon took up position on my right. Of course I would be sandwiched between them, stuck on the jutting island of the rectangular table. I debated pulling Stefan closer so as to ward off impending Damon mischief, then decided against it. He wouldn't try anything in the absurdly close vicinity to his brother.

I was wrong.

As Stefan chatted amiably with my aunt, passing the steaming pasta around to each of us, Damon slid his hand onto my thigh, cloaked by the draping flowered tablecloth. His face remained passive and even personable, commenting lightly on the topic of conversation.

They could have been planning my gristly demise and I wouldn't have noticed. What could I do? Damon was pushing his luck, pushing my limits, and he knew it. He was blackmailing me, I realized abruptly, as he swung his face around to me and smirked. I couldn't say a word, because then the jig would be up- Stefan's face would crumple and his love for me would lessen by degrees. I simply was unable to bear that, so I focused rather intently on the impression of ballooning daisies beneath my plate.

Stefan noticed nothing of my discomfort- or guilt, anyway. Damon's hand crept farther up my leg, stroking a deliberate, pointed pattern. I tensed and my breathing became erratic.

"Elena," Damon inquired sweetly, "do you have any requests for Christmas presents?"

I clenched my teeth together. His fingers had found the zipper on my jeans. I wasn't aware his limbs were so long; his movements didn't look strained or peculiar, and the bystanders of this invisible debacle couldn't discern anything unordinary. I sent telepathic signals to Damon, pleading with him to stop, just please stop, just please _hurry_.

My body was fighting with my conscience- because Damon's evil felt so good.

"No," I told him. "Nothing at all."

'Except maybe a sharpened stake,' I thought.

The soft grind of my zipper slipped out into the atmosphere, and Damon's deliberately engaging conversation masked the sound from Stefan's sensitive ears. I ate furiously, my teeth biting down on the fork tines. God, he needed to just be quick about it and either take me now or kill me. I couldn't stand anymore.

Then, both Stefan and Damon turned expectantly to the doorway. Stefan shot me a worried glance, and Damon removed his treacherous hand. I exhaled.

The door opened and Jeremy strolled in.

"Jeremy!" I cried, leaping from my chair and stumbling; my legs were jelly after the onslaught of Damon's teasing.

But Stefan grabbed my hand and Damon hissed.

"What's wrong?" Jenna demanded.

Reluctantly, Stefan released me. His crafty brother covered his animalistic outburst with a forced cough.

"Jeremy, we're so glad you're home!" Jenna said, walking toward us.

But I knew something was amiss, so very, very unusual, although I wasn't sure exactly what.

His eyes were dark and skin luminescent, pale. I assumed he was high, and didn't move further to embrace him. Jenna hugged Jeremy fiercely, and ran a hand through his messy brown hair.

"How are you, kiddo?" She peered into his eyes and recognized the same suspect difference that I had. She frowned.

He answered her casually, and my phone buzzed in my back right pocket.

I flipped it out, still cautiously observing my brother.

_He's turned._

The text was from Damon, and at first I didn't understand.

'No,' I thought. 'He's facing forward…'

Then, with a sense of overwhelming dread, I sensed the room growing shadowy, filling my vision with fog.

I closed the phone and then my eyes. After that I knew nothing at all.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just one word. Reviews?**

"_Thou sweetly canst convert the same  
From a consuming fire  
Into a gentle licking flame,  
And make it thus expire."_

Chapter 3

Blacking out is the strangest feeling. One minute you're alert, your mind fully intact and operational. Breathing is a reflex, and senses don't seem out of place.

But then it's a long slide down a dark tunnel, and you keep tunneling. If you're lucky, you dream.

I dreamt.

There was my brother, standing taller and prouder than I had ever before witnessed, his mouth stained crimson with blood. I looked down and realized my wrist was one giant wound, and both Damon and Stefan were enjoying my life, transmogrified conveniently into liquid form. Stefan's lips pulled gently at the gaping rift, but with a certain repetition that left me bored. Damon's teeth grazed my flesh, and he winked at my discomfort. Eventually, the pain faded and I could only feel pleasure- pleasure from Damon, and his demanding lips and contrastingly soft caresses.

We were seated sensually before a smudged mirror, blemished by soot. I loosened the collective Salvatore grasp and peered into the glass.

It was I, but altered, a sharp, devilish grin correcting the usual childish dimples on my smile, and glowing skin that put to shame the inordinate stars in the Milky Way.

Was this mirror a reflection of my inner nature, penned in behind thorns and ivy, prickling everyone and thwarting attempts made to reveal it?

I followed the twists of the tunnel until I reached a glowing green exit sign, realized it was actually one of Stefan's gleaming eyes, and stepped out into the disconcerting light.

* * *

"Elena," he murmured, brushing back my hair. "Elena, everything's going to be alright. Wake up, sweetheart."

There was that exit sign again, placed deliberately beneath strong brows and above shapely lips.

I shook myself.

It was Stefan.

'Of course it's Stefan,' I thought happily. He warmed the scratched surface of my heart, and I pulled him closer to me.

"I had the most terrible dream," I confided. "It didn't make any sense."

"You were muttering names," he told me.

I glanced swiftly into his face, searching for telltale signs of realization- realization of my disloyalty, or even my recent malevolent perceptions.

But it was devoid of any important knowledge- familiar, then.

"Where's Damon?" I asked instinctively. "And Jeremy?"

Stefan frowned. "Damon is-"

"Present and accounted for, _princessa_," came the velvet voice from my doorway.

I looked at him. My heart nearly broke from the strength of his beauty. I remembered old words: "I'm sorry you're so beautiful. It's a waste." I pondered the sense of distance they

carried; after all, it had only been yesterday I'd uttered them. But worlds and universes had collapsed and reformed since then, misting the tinted window of rationale and sagacity.

"And Jeremy," Stefan said, growling slightly and throwing a tempered glance toward his brother, "is downstairs with Jenna. Damon apologizes for his tactlessness-"

"Speak for yourself, Prince Charming," Damon interrupted. "She had to know; it's not like I could just haul out and say it. But," he added pensively, "the vampire's out of the bag now."

I couldn't restrain laughter. "You've been trying to inject that into casual conversation for years now, haven't you?"

He grinned, clearly acknowledging that each of us was in tune with the other. "It's true. Since my Americanization," he worded gingerly, "your phrases have never ceased to thrill me. What about you, Stefan? Does the apple fall far from the tree?"

"That's a religious reference, Damon. Maybe you should rethink your choice of expressions…considering you're damned."

I gasped. "Stefan!"

"No, Elena. It's fine by me- pretty boy can't admit his own evil, so he pokes fun at mine. Carry on, by all means," Damon jeered tauntingly, "but when you realize it's not Katherine beside you, feel free to take a ring-less stroll in the sunshine."

Damon left both Stefan and myself shocked into awkward silence.

Which was, of course, his mission exactly.

* * *

"We have to whisper," Stefan told me later, when the discomfort had dissipated slightly. "Jeremy is entirely capable of hearing us now."

I winced at the harsh reminder. "I still can't believe it. Is that why he's been gone for days? Hunting, killing? Why didn't you realize something was wrong when humans started dropping like flies?"

Stefan smoothed a hand over my dewdrop forehead, reassuring me. "Damon and I haven't encountered anything indicative to a new vampire. I'm not sure how he's kept himself hidden…and inconspicuous. He had to have help…obviously it was Anna's blood in him. That's what preempted the change."

He was conveniently forgetting a key component of his own creation. "That's all well and good, Moriarty, but how did he _die_?"

He flinched at the daggers laced in my tone. I didn't care; this was not a time for catering to Stefan's delicate sensibilities.

"I can't be sure. When was the last time you saw him alive?"

"At the Founder's Day Celebration," I answered with certainty.

Stefan nodded. "Then it's possible he was killed in the melee."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Have you noticed you revert back to old-timey language when you're feeling contemplative?"

He smiled. "I thought it might be endearing. You know, one of those added bonuses: a worldly vampire boyfriend, not just a good-looking one."

I shook my head exasperatedly, but leaned forward and kissed him all the same.

Still, as our lips met in a tried but true fashion, I heard the resounding echo of Damon's voice.

"When you realize it's not Katherine beside you…"

I stopped, righted us.

"What did Damon mean when he said you thought I was Katherine?"

He stiffened in my arms, and I felt my limbs droop from their habitual position atop his shoulders.

Stefan opened his mouth, but suddenly I was tired. Not physically- I'd had enough sleep. I was drained, no supernatural pun intended, and depleted emotionally. I felt irrevocably empty.

I couldn't put those particulars into words though, was distinctly unable to form sentences borne of such strong negativity.

So I just placed a hand over his mouth and said, "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

I allowed him to kiss me soundlessly for many minutes, and enjoyed it with a detracted, sort of unconnected fervor. There was passion available, and spinning just out of my reach. He was trying so hard. I drew on the reserves of leftover arousal created by the other Salvatore, and hoped Stefan wouldn't detect the lies with which I kissed him.

* * *

In the middle of the night, after Stefan had departed, carrying both his and my virtue with him, I rolled over in my bed to see Damon's shining quicksilver grin.

I didn't speak. Neither did he.

I was still tender, exhausted, but his touch sparked each raw nerve ending in my body. I yanked him to my mouth, showed him precisely where to put his hands: here, and here, and Oh, God, _there_. He knew exactly where his lips were needed most, and I felt myself dissolve in his fleeting embrace. His expeditiousness melted my reaction time into fresh gelatin; one moment he was whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and the next gripping my arms and teasing me mercilessly with his power.

Because only Damon could give me what I required most. He, exclusively, could set me finally free.

"Damon," I breathed, dragging him toward my throat. "Please," I pleaded. "Please, Damon…"

The rest of my speech twisted itself into indistinguishable moans as his teeth sank into my flesh, piercing me, branding me. He was drinking deeply from the wound of my regret. There was no pain, only a soft suspect sense of losing myself, and I was okay with that. I wanted to submerge so far within him that I'd never be found, hibernate in the cavernous chasms of his unmoving heart.

He pulled apart the seams of his wrist with those knife-like canines, and offered his blood to me. I did not hesitate.

Lost in lust, both for body and blood, I sacrificed awareness and, offhandedly, hoped Damon could exercise the restraint he claimed he did not possess, restraint I could not employ in these moonlight-filled moments.

He lifted me high, high, higher.

Damon may be the half of me from hell, but he was also an ever-increasing portion of my heaven.

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Dear Diary, _

_I took three showers this morning, desperately scrubbing off the scent of him, unique cologne halfway between red wine and wildfire smoke. I wanted to wash away the memories, too._

_I feel so guilty, sick even- sick in the head and sick with shame. I could barely drag myself to school for the second day in a row, but somehow I did. I think the promise of seeing Stefan is both terrifying and necessary; Stefan loves me, and will take away my hurt with just a smile._

_I'm sitting stationary in my car, and wonder what the day will hold for me._

_Oh, God, I just remembered Jeremy…I don't know if he's at school; I'm not sure if I _want_ him at school, around innocents when he's newly turned. But he seemed stable enough last night…_

_I don't know what to do with myself! With my life!_

_Wishing that I were dead is pointless; neither Stefan, nor Damon would allow me the relief of being nothing, feeling nothing._

_Maybe I shouldn't even leave the car…maybe I shouldn't…_

I didn't actually know how to finish the sentence, the incomplete, failing fragment, indicative to the status of my labored existence.

* * *

Stefan wasn't present when class attendance for History was taken, and I couldn't locate him in the swollen hallways.

My back pocket vibrated halfway through lunch, and I fumbled clumsily for it.

_Come out to the parking lot._

I practically ran, throwing over chairs in my haste, all trepidation forgotten. I would confess, reveal my innermost desire to him and force him to act more like Damon, for the security and stability of our relationship.

Damon, with his secretive smiles and quick hands…

I groaned, stopping suddenly to alter my brain, memories seeping through like poison in tampered-with veins.

"Elena?" Matt called worriedly, fast approaching.

"Not now, Matt," I said curtly. "I have to go find Stefan. He told me to meet him in the lot…"

"I'll walk you," he proposed courteously.

I didn't care what he did at this point, I just needed to reach Stefan and, thankfully, Matt's calmingly ignorant vibe soothed me.

Stefan was leaning gloriously against his car, and I found myself struggling to breathe as I encountered his otherworldly appeal; it had been so long since I'd taken time to appreciate his handsomeness properly.

Matt greeted Stefan with some genuine niceness, and I trembled with anticipation.

"Okay, Matt," I blurted. "Thanks, I'll see you later." The darkness was evident on Stefan's face, and I hoped it was anger, fury, or else merely expectant with intended violence. Anything, _anything _but sadness.

He ambled away, glancing behind apprehensively. I hoped Matt didn't sense what was coming; I didn't want an audience for my confessional, my unforgivable shame.

"You're wearing my scarf," Stefan murmured.

A jolt spiked my spine. The scarf was, of course, cloaking the puncture wounds created last night during the heated make-out session with Damon; even with his healing blood circling in my system, the magic of his bite could not be easily erased. The irony of the thing put a twisted smile on my lips.

I agreed quickly. "Of course. I love it." I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, pushing away the droll familiarity and gathering the strength of my love for him, intensified by disloyalty.

His lips did not cling to mine, and I felt the hard curve of his jaw beneath my hands.

I became acutely afraid.

His hands reached out to caress my face, and there was something building, a warning invented by inherent streaming intuition. There was no force to his touch, but a slow slide of palms down the short, uncovered length of my neck. Then, he was pulling effortlessly on the burgundy fabric, his emerald eyes shadowed and emotionless.

I inhaled…did not exhale.

There, in plain sight for passerby, immortal or mortal…it didn't matter now, he was standing in front of me but not really there at all, just a shell of consciousness, lacking matter and glued together by resolve and years and years and _years _of masking himself, treating the same bruises with bad medicine.

"Stefan," I whispered. But something in his expression forbade further words.

"I don't know why you did it, Elena, or what you were missing. It seems inevitable- history repeating itself. I look at you," he continued, "and I don't see you any longer. I see Katherine, but Katherine as she was cruel, and indecisive. Maybe you were her all this time, and I was just too blind to see it."

"No! Stefan, please, it was an accident, a mistake. I'm not Katherine, I haven't chosen Damon over you!"

"You're right," Stefan said, and the convex shield of false carelessness sank inward, revealing finally his true despair. "You haven't chosen at all, and that's probably worse."

I couldn't respond. I wanted to shout that he was so very, very wrong, that Damon meant nothing to me and that _he_, Stefan, was my happy ever after.

But the words were lodged in my throat, and I thought abstractly that it must be Damon's evil preventing speech. He was a scapegoat, a pincushion for me to tack my many indiscretions to, but I didn't have enough strength left to realize the unfairness of that; I was broken, already.

"I'm going to give you the time you need," Stefan told me, wrapping the scarf around the column of my neck with a gentleness that made me want to weep. "And I want you to come to me when you decide. But I won't wait forever, Elena. I don't have it in me." He shook his head sadly, despairingly, and looked at his hands as if he despised them, curling the fingers sharply in toward his palms.

"Do you understand?" he asked, after many moments of silence had passed while I struggled to get air into my straining lungs. I hated being human in that instant.

"Yes," I answered quietly, surprised at the waver in my voice; Elena Gilbert wasn't one for weakness.

He tugged lightly on my locket, appearing simultaneously wistful and cold, and walked away into the brilliant sunshine, away from me.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Damon knew exactly where to find me.

I was leaning against their frigid tombstones with my head in my hands, crying unreservedly, when the sudden crack of brittle leaves alerted me to the presence of another.

I knew that he had made the sound to warn me, announce his arrival without startling me; if Damon wanted to sneak up on a person, he could do so effortlessly, regardless of noisy give-aways that would betray someone less skilled.

"What?" I said, not even bothering to dry my tears. "Come to have a look at the show? Tough ass Elena, crying over her boyfriend breaking up with her."

He simply stared, expressionless, and that inspired a fury within me so full and frightening that I reared up on my knees and yanked him down by the edges of his trademark black leather jacket. I forced him to my level, and though his marble body refused to bend entirely, he compromised with a definite angle that satisfied me.

"Why?" I shouted. "Why would you do this to me? I thought you…I thought _we_…" I trailed off, disgusted, placing my crushed, irrational hopes into the permanent auditory spectrum.

"I didn't," he responded quietly. "Elena, I didn't tell him anything."

"You're a liar," I told him confidently. "Everything about you is a lie. You act so very tough and hard and _careless_, but I _know_ you, Damon! You may bleed differently, and your heart may not beat, but goddamnit, would you know what I meant if I said you're only human?"

Damon's careful cool façade shattered, revealing momentarily the pained face of a boy who'd loved and lost, and wasn't sure how he could make it in this life without harshness and volatility. Tears, unbidden, sprang to his eyes, and I leaned forward and kissed the sparkling wetness from his sculpted cheeks.

"Damon," I murmured, "Damon, Damon, Damon, it's _okay._" And then I was sobbing and he was kneeling. Our arms were snaked around each other, and the sky grew dusty and dim with twilight before we next surfaced.

"_He can't admit his own evil, so he pokes fun at mine," _I recalled. And I knew that I, too, had echoed Stefan's jealous reaction, and mine must have stung Damon more deeply. I stroked his hair as dusk fell.

"I didn't tell him," he muttered, and though I wasn't sure how this could be true, I placated him.

"Okay," I acknowledged. "It doesn't matter; it's just a break-up."

Damon pulled away from me, and I vaguely realized that my arms were stiff from maintaining that artificial embrace.

"What did he say?" Damon asked me, his face once again guileless and free of self-doubt.

I smiled sadly. "He said he wouldn't wait forever, and that I needed to decide."

He gazed at me motionlessly, inspecting with a practiced eye the cherry-colored strands he seemed so fond of, nestled slapdash in my brunette mane. "And?"

I shook her head slowly, "And I don't know."

"Well then," Damon responded with his usual tone, devoid of humanity and hiding emotions, forever hiding. "I suppose there's nothing left to say. Do feel free to send me a postcard during your stay in Loneliness; I heard there's a direct line to 'The Perfect Brother' there, so you shouldn't have trouble finding your way eventually."

His barbed wit dripped with condescending, and I bit my lip in frustration.

"Damon, it's not like that-"

"Then tell me, Elena, exactly what it's _like_. I'm not an idiot; Katherine may have chosen me in the end, but it was _Stefan_ that she loved more. I was a plaything," he emphasized, "an inconsequential toy. And you know what? I was fine with that. I would take whatever she gave me, any portion of her, because I loved her best."

And that was the crux of it, the blatant truth finally, forcefully accepted: Stefan had loved Katherine first, but Damon had loved her more. That was the distinction between them. I felt like weeping as I made this realization; it meant that any notions of affection I fabricated for Damon toward myself were false, and unreasonable. It meant that he would always see me as Katherine, and never learn to love Elena.

"I'm not Katherine," I could only whisper. "I'm not her, I'm not."

His beautiful face illuminated from within, flaming with white-hot fury. "No, thank God, you're not. I've never thought you were- that's all Stefan, Elena, misguided Stefan thinking if he could just pretend you were her long enough he might be able to care for _you_. His intentions may be good; I can't doubt his integrity. But his fucked up view of everything can only hurt you, and him, and _me_. You _are _Katherine to him, 'Lena. But you're nothing but you to me."

I could not bear another syllable. I struck him with all the strength I could muster.

"Don't presume," I demanded, shaking with the fervor of my anger and tears, "to understand me. You know _nothing_ about me, Damon, this I promise you. And you _don't _know Stefan. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me!" I was screaming and, coupled with my helpless sobbing, could hardly breathe.

I staggered away, sidestepping the meaningful bouquets of wilting orchids and lilies, tokens of remembrance, past the lonely graves and their corpses, lying frozen and unstressed six feet below me.

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